


Rest Your Weary Head, Child (Forever On My Shoulder)

by Buckets_Of_Stars



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Complete, Cute, Domestic Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Hair Playing, I just needed to write something cute okay, Mama Bear Tony Stark, One-Shot, Peter Stark - Freeform, Platonic Cuddling, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Peter, Sleepy fluff, Tickle Fights, Tickling, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, You Have Been Warned, basically plotless, dad tony, dad tony stark, guys in case you haven't noticed this is very fluffy, son peter, sorry its not that long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 11:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16062317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/pseuds/Buckets_Of_Stars
Summary: When Peter's study group ends up staying out later than expected, the result is as unsurprising and enduring as Tony could possibly imagine.Or: Peter is tired and wants to cuddle his Dad.





	Rest Your Weary Head, Child (Forever On My Shoulder)

**Author's Note:**

> ENJOY THE FLUFF MY AMAZING READERS!:D
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.

* * *

 

When the unexpected weight lands in his lap, Tony is only startled for a second.

 

It was around seven in the evening, the sun having set a while ago, the only reminder of it’s departure being a pale streak of blue, just visible past the steady darkening buildings. The genius had been watching each yellow light flicker off as bone tired office workers had packed up and left for the night, his own feet aching in sympathy.

 

Now, however, his view is blocked by a mop of unruly brown curls and doe eyes that droop with exhaustion.

 

“Hey, bud.” Tony whispers, curling his fingers gently under his son’s armpits and pulling him to sit up fully. “How did your study session go?”

 

Peter just lets out a grunt, his body limp as he falls further against his father. His boney knees knock into Tony’s legs as he twists around, sending jolting spikes of pain up the billionaire’s thighs, his arms flailing and hands grasping onto the man’s night shirt with jerky movements. Shifting on the couch, Tony attempts to help the almost asleep boy, but gives up as his child lets out a huff.

 

“All comfy now?” Tony laughs, curling his arms around Peter once the spidering finally settles, his head tucked under his dad’s chin and his legs flung off to the side. “Not gonna try and mash me like applesauce anymore, right?”

 

Peter snorts, voice muffled as he nuzzles further against Tony’s chest. “M’re like potatoes.”

 

“Oh yeah, why’s that?”

 

“Cause,” Poking one finger into his father’s stomach, Tony can practically hear Peter’s teasing smile when he replies. “You’re fluffy.”

 

Tony mock gasps, stopping his hand as it runs through his son’s soft hair. The boy peeks up at him, eyes bright with mirth. “Are you calling me fat?”

 

“N-no, just cuddly.”

 

Tony raises an eyebrow, giving Peter his most unimpressed look. “Oh really?”

 

“Yeah.” Peter half says, half laughs. “Squishy _and_ c-cuddly.”

 

“I’ll show you cuddly, mister!”

 

Reaching down, the genius squeezes Peter’s sides again and again, enlightening giggles from the teen as his body jerks in his father’s hold, legs kicking out and hitting the back of the couch. Letting out a few chuckles himself, the man finally slows down his assault when Peter’s face starts turning red, his laughter still ringing through the air as he wheezes.

 

“Think you learned your lesson now, kiddie?” Tony asks once they have both settled back down, Peter’s no longer flushed cheek resting against the man’s shoulder and his hands tracing the outline of the Reactor.

 

His son starts to answer, but a yawn cuts his sentence in half, his pulse steady under Tony’s fingertips as he scratches at the boy’s scalp, his fingers mapping the feeling of Peter’s soft skin under his hands.

 

Suddenly, the billionaire frowns, tightening his hold on his kid, listening to the hiss of the dishwasher rise up from the kitchen. “How late were you up last night, Peter?”

 

The small body in his arms flinches, almost as though the boy was on the edge of sleep and his father’s voice was the very thing tethering him to the Earth. 

 

“Not that late.” He says, blinking slowly, curling up tighter in Tony’s arms as a shiver racks his body. “Had to-to study f’r my final.”

 

Taking a second to grab the gray blanket from the back of the couch, the superhero wraps both him and his son in the fluffy fabric, Peter sighing in bliss as warmth begins to fill up the make-shift cocoon.

 

“You need to take better care of yourself, Pete. Did you eat anything tonight?”

 

Making a small noise of protest in the back of his throat, the teen tries in vain to sit up, his head lobbing to one side as his bones shake. “I-I do take care of myself, I j’st gotta do good on this test, Dad.” He swallows, throat clicking. “And y-yeah me ’n Ned had dinner at his house. Some t-type of pasta, I think. It was good.”

 

Smoothing down his son’s hair with one hand, Tony shushes him gently, pushing so that his head is cradled between his father’s chest and under the man’s chin.

 

“Go to sleep, baby.” Tony mutters, pressing a kiss to the crown of his child’s head. “You can study to your little hearts content tomorrow, okay?”

 

The genius can see Peter start to frown, a protest sitting half formed against his lips, but he seems to think better of it, instead choosing to snuggle closer, sighing. Tony just keeps running his fingers through the boy’s curls, untangling small knots as he goes, humming under his breathe.

 

Peter’s voice, when he speaks, is slurred, high in his tired state. “ ‘k, goodnight, Dad.”

 

“Goodnight, kiddo.”

 

It takes only a couple of seconds for Peter to be dead to the world, his chest rising and falling as he snores softly, huffs of hot air tickling Tony’s neck. Closing his own eyes, the man curls his free arm around his child, pushing him closer against his chest, resting his chin on top of his Peter’s head and breathing in the smell of his shampoo.

 

Feeling drowsy himself now, Tony reaches out blindly and finds the end of the blanket, tugging it up further against his son’s thin frame, subconsciously placing his body in-between Peter and the doorway. 

 

The crick in his neck and his sore back the next day is worth the content he feels in his heart.

 

And he wouldn’t trade it for the world.


End file.
